Bred to Follow Orders
by SnipsSkywalker
Summary: A short Order 66 one-shot from the point of view of a Clone Commander.  Rated K .  "I hear the words coming from my mouth.  They are not my own.  They are the words of a slave, a man grown in a lab to follow orders, however cruel.  'Execute Order 66.'"


We were not bred to be human. We are only expendable soldiers, pawns in something that none of us understand. Our sacrifice is for the greater good of the people, for peace, for justice, they say. What sacrifice? We have no choice. I was bred only to follow orders. We all were.

We don't think. We weren't bred to think. We were _made_, made for the sole purpose of bringing down the Separatists.

So why is it then, that I feel so desolate as I receive the order from the Chancellor, to kill all Jedi traitors?

I know the GAR manual by heart, as any trooper does.

"_Order 66. In the event of Jedi officers acting against the interests of the republic and after receiving specific orders verified as coming directly from the Supreme Chancellor, GAR commanders will remove those officers by lethal force and command of the GAR will revert to the Supreme Chancellor until a new command structure is established."_

I do not want to execute this order. The words are trapped in my throat.

General Za'dine does not deserve this. She is barely eighteen years old, barely a Jedi Knight. She should not be serving on the field of battle at all.

She cannot be a traitor. I watch her tending to the wounded men, healing them with every ounce of her strength. The past rotation has been rough on my men and I, and we have sustained many casualties. The number of wounded men is more than I would like to count.

She is exhausted. Her robes are stained with the blood of her men, the men she trusts with her life. The men she is killing herself to save.

I have heard her crying softly late at night, when she thinks none of us hear her. That is how much energy healing these men takes from her. And yet, she keeps on going, only for our sake.

She is no traitor.

But orders are orders.

I watch her, as she comforts a dying man. I hear her whisper something to him as he eases into death.

Soon enough, it will be her, on the brink of death.

Tears stream down her cheeks, as she grasps the hand of the soldier. She touches his head softly, and mouths something through her tears.

I have seen this on her lips too many times to mistake it.

_May the Force be with you._

If we are bred only to follow orders, why does executing this one feel so wrong? I know it is wrong. She cares for nothing but her men. Unlike many other Jedi Generals that I have seen, she is not detached from her men because of her strange abilities. She is one of us. A soldier, fighting not for her republic, but because she does not have another option.

That is why it pains me so, to give the order to fire.

But I give it.

I hear the words coming from my mouth. They are not my own. They are the words of a slave, a man grown in a lab to follow orders, however cruel.

"Troopers. Execute Order 66."

Immediately, every man's blaster is pointed on her.

The General's head shoots up. The shock on the girl's face is heartbreaking. We are not grown to fell such emotion.

She grips her lightsaber in one hand. But she is outnumbered a hundred to one, and she knows this.

I only have to say one word, and her short life will be quickly ended. One simple word. _Fire. _

"Commander?" She asks me, desperate. She does not know what is happening. She does not know why I have ordered the men to do this. I do not, either.

"Why, Commander?"

I am grateful for my helmet now. I cannot meet her eyes with my own.

I am no human. I have been programmed to follow orders. And I will follow them. But that does not stop me from hesitating. Why do I hesitate?

I feel something warm sliding down my cheek. I pay it no attention.

"Fire." I say. My voice is hollow, dead.

My men do not hesitate. They open fire.

She can only repel so much fire with her lightsaber. They show no mercy. It is a matter of seconds before her own men have shot her down.

Her face is still frozen in an expression of shock as she lays in the dirt, Jedi robes torn, blaster holes though her chest.

If we were bred as tools, to follow any order given, why am I so appalled?

The truth hits me. I have just slaughtered a loyal general in cold blood. She would have given her life for any of us. And we had killed her without a second thought.

It is inhuman. We are more machine than man. No man would kill such a devoted officer as we have. I feel dead inside, cold.

I was bred to follow orders.

And so I follow them.

Whatever the cost.


End file.
